


Leaving Me Stranded

by mardia



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Drug Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Canon, Self-Medication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack’s dad and Kent really get along great. Which isn’t a surprise, they’re basically the same sort of person--outgoing, funny, always ready with a story or joke--so when Kent comes out to dinner with Jack and his family, it’s basically those two monopolizing the conversation for the entire meal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving Me Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a Kings of Leon song. I tried to be careful with the warnings, but if you think there's one I missed, please let me know and I will be happy to correct it.
> 
> This story was originally written as part of a much longer fic (and before the comic's latest update on 1/20/15) and I decided to polish it up and post this part before I got wildly Jossed. :)

Jack’s dad and Kent really get along great. Which isn’t a surprise, they’re basically the same sort of person--outgoing, funny, always ready with a story or joke--so when Kent comes out to dinner with Jack and his family, it’s basically those two monopolizing the conversation for the entire meal. 

Jack doesn’t mind--the way he’s been feeling lately, it's nice for once to not have people's eyes on him. He stays pretty quiet, and every time Kent's leg brushes against his under the table, he gets a brief warm spark, low in his gut.

It was probably too much to hope that nobody would notice how quiet he's being, and sure enough, his mom turns to him after they order dessert and asks, gently, "You doing okay, baby?" Jack's hands go cold at the idea that his mom can _see_ it, that somehow she can tell there's something wrong with him.

"I'm fine," he mumbles, eyes dropping down to focus on the tablecloth.

"It's the draft," his dad says, and Jack's entire body goes tense, but his dad goes on to say, light-heartedly, "The week before I got drafted, I couldn't sleep at all. Kept waking up at three am, drove your grandparents crazy." He grins at Jack. "Just take it easy, eh? You're going to be fine."

"Yeah. Sure thing, Dad."

Jack knows his voice sounds too flat and serious right now, Christ what is _wrong_ with him, but his dad doesn't seem to notice, he just looks to Kent and goes, "Keep an eye on him for me, will you? Make sure he doesn't worry too much."

"I always do," Kent says, grinning over at Jack, and Jack tries not to blush.

*

His parents are staying at a different hotel--to give Jack space to have some fun, his dad had said with a wink as he’d ruffled Jack’s hair--and Kent takes full advantage of it, showing up about half an hour after dinner with a six-pack of beer hidden inside a brown paper bag. 

Jack’s lying on the bed, half-dressed, trying to keep himself steady, and he eyes the six-pack, not all that surprised. “Do I even want to know how you got that?”

“Please,” Kent scoffs, tossing him a can. “Go on and drink that, it’ll settle you down.”

Jack holds the can but doesn’t pop it open. “I’m fine.”

“Like you were fine at dinner tonight?” Kent asks, with a raised eyebrow. Jack goes tense again, opening his mouth, but Kent shakes his head. “Chill, Z. I’ve got you covered.”

And it’s true. It’s been true for the last year--everyone knows that Jack's "wound a little tight", but Kent’s the only one who’s seen how bad it can get. He knows about the meds, he’s seen Jack at his worst--and Jack shies away from the memory, but it creeps in around the edges anyway, being in that hotel bathroom, eyes blurry with tears and his throat too tight to breathe, he hadn’t even been able to fucking _breathe_ \--

Jack inhales shakily and pops the tab of his beer can open. “Good,” Kent says, sitting down on the bed next to him, watching while Jack sits up and downs half the can in one go. “Just relax, okay? I’ve got your back, don’t I?”

His hand reaches out to rub Jack’s thigh, and Jack nods, closing his eyes and finishing the rest of his beer. 

Two more beers later, Jack and Kent are sloppily making out on Jack’s hotel bed, Kent’s fingers tangled in Jack’s hair, Kent grumbling against his mouth, “Fuck, I can’t get used to this new haircut you’ve got.”

Jack snickers a little. “My mom made me get it.”

Kent grumbles some more but settles back in, his mouth as hot and pushy against Jack’s as ever, until he’s the only thing Jack can focus on, can think about, and God, it’s such a _relief._

“Yeah, there we go,” Kent murmurs, encouraging, as Jack lays out on the bed, Kent straddling his hips, a solid weight on top of Jack, anchoring him down. “That’s it.”

Like this, when it’s just the two of them locked away, it’s so easy not to think, so easy to just want this, and not remember all the reasons why he shouldn’t. He can just do this, rock up his hips, moan into Kent’s mouth when Kent rubs against him. 

"So how do you want this?" Kent asks, lips brushing against Jack's as he talks. "You want my hand, or my mouth?"

“Would you fuck me?" Jack asks after a second.

Kent exhales like he's been punched, pulling back to stare at Jack. "Fuck yeah, Zimms. You want to?"

"Wouldn't ask if I didn't want it," Jack says and it's true. “I brought the stuff from last time.” They’ve only done this twice before, but it had been--it had been good. Too good, and Jack had told Kent afterwards he didn’t want to do it again, which had been a lie.

“All right,” Kent says, pressing a firm kiss to Jack’s mouth before he clambers off, stripping his shirt as he goes.

Jack looks at him, at the smooth lines of his back, and licks his suddenly dry mouth. "My meds too?"

Kent turns and flashes a grin at Jack over his shoulder. "Anything else you need?"

It's the beers, that has to be why Jack is stupid enough to open his mouth and say, “Just you.”

He could bite his tongue the second he lets it slip, and Kent’s eyes go big, but he climbs right back onto the bed and on top of Jack, kissing him like he wants to swallow up every word Jack could say.

Right when Jack’s brain is starting to go blank, Kent pulls back, placing the bottle of pills in his hand. “Here.”

“Right,” Jack says, and swallows two of them, dry. 

And soon enough, with the drugs and the booze in his system, it all becomes so blissfully easy for a while, easy to spread his legs open, to give in to Kent’s whispered request that Jack stay on his back this time so that Kent can watch his face while they fuck. It’s easy to keep his eyes on Kent while Kent’s working him open with three slick fingers, and even easier to push back on those fingers, sharp noises caught in his mouth while Kent watches him, his lips parted and his gaze bright.

When Kent is on him, pushing into him, a solid weight anchoring Jack to the bed, to this moment where he doesn’t have to think or do or be anything, Jack can close his eyes, and pretend that there’s nothing in his brain at all.

“Jesus,” Kent gasps out later, when they’re both cooling down, their bodies slick with sweat, tangled together on top of the bedsheets. “Remind me again why the fuck we haven’t done that more often.”

“Don’t know,” Jack mumbles, staring up at the ceiling.

Kent hears it in his voice, and he sits up. “Hey. Jack. You with me?”

Jack turns his head to look at him. “Yeah. Of course.”

Kent stares at him for a long moment, and then says, “You remember what we talked about, right? What I told you?” There’s only one thing he’s referring to right now, and they both know it. 

Jack takes a long, deep breath, just to remember that he can. “Remind me,” he says.

And Kent does, straight away. “You’ve just got to keep it together until the draft, okay?” His gray eyes are fixed on Jack’s face, and his voice is so sincere it almost hurts to listen to. “We’re so fucking close, and you’ve worked so hard. You’ll be picked first, you’ll get up on that stage and put on that Aces jersey, and you’ll be fucking golden. And afterwards--we’ll figure this out, okay? Find someone you can talk to, figure out a new way to deal with this. You just gotta keep it together a little bit longer.”

Jack closes his eyes, and tries to make himself believe it’ll be as easy as Kent makes it sound. It should be easy, it should be so goddamn simple but his _stupid fucking brain_ won’t--

“Hey,” Kent says sharply as Jack closes his eyes. “Jack, look at me.” Jack make himself do it, makes himself open his eyes and look at Kent’s face, now serious and focused on him with the same look Kent gets in the shootout, right before going in for his trademark backhand move. “You’re going to be _fine,”_ Kent insists. “After everything I’ve seen you do this year, you really think you’re going to blow it now? C’mon, man.”

Jack’s stomach clenches, but he puts on a smile, or at least tries to. “Not worried about competition for the Calder?”

His weak joke gets the reaction he wants, at least, Kent’s grin splitting his face wide open as he says, “Please, I’ll be racking up points in Tampa. But I still gotta keep you around--the NHL won’t be half as much fun without you.”

Jack lets out a shaky laugh, but then Kent’s leaning in to kiss him again, and thank God, thank God Jack doesn’t have to try and talk anymore. Doesn’t have to guard himself from slipping, from blurting out, _Parse, I think there’s something really wrong with me._

Kent leaves a little bit later--the last thing either of them need is people not being able to find Kent in his hotel room in the morning--and once he’s gone, there’s no more distractions, no more warm body in his bed, no steady voice telling Jack what he needs to hear.

Just Jack, alone in his bed and staring up at the ceiling, his throat getting tighter as he tries to remember how to breathe.


End file.
